The Peony Lantern
by SlippedLips
Summary: In the Warring States, there are many stories of yokai and spirits. No one disbelieves in them more than Madara Uchiha. When the daimyo of the Land of Fire calls the Uchiha for an alliance, Madara himself becomes entangled with these tales. But who knows? Maybe he will resign himself to the fact that such stories often have a basis in reality.
1. Chapter 1

… 1 …

Whirling sakura blossoms drifted across the manicured gardens of the grand daimyo palace. The Land of Fire looked marvellous in summertime, with flourishing buds, rejuvenating sunlight and tranquil dawns. Yet, sat on the porch of his suite, he frowned.

Damn his father for putting him in this situation!

Was a match with a daimyo's granddaughter really something beneficial to the Uchiha clan? And, of all the daimyos out there, Tajima had picked the stingiest, stubbornest old fart! Probably divine retribution for all the schtick he'd given him growing up. Madara couldn't even wish this on his worst enemy – Hashirama would probably just go along with it and hope for the best. Damn …

With shifts between clan loyalties suddenly changing at the present, he couldn't waste too much time in meeting halls with the daimyo. He needed to resolve this matter swiftly and return to the clan.

"For the last one hundred years, the Uchiha have been protectors of my family's fortress and surrounding villages, so this match would solidify our—"

He stifled a groan. _Remain po-faced_ , his father had always told him. No matter what. Po-faced. Cool-headed. Calm. All of that was going to go out of the window if he didn't have this old geezer agree that the marriage contract was not a mutual favour because it profited the daimyo and not the Uchiha, who would only be dragged into more senseless wars with minor clans until someone called in the Senju and then a total bloodbath would ensue. Yes, that sounds like a very mutually benefitting arrangement.

"With all due respect, my clan can continue this loyalty. The marriage of your granddaughter and I will not hinder the Uchiha clan's continued dedication to you and your country." Madara claimed firmly, chin up and eyes staring ahead at the greying old man shrouded in magnificent silks. "I propose that, in place of marriage, a contract of blood be drawn between us."

"Tajima offered that, too."

Madara remained apathetic-looking at the old man's sneer. "Yes. I am offering it because in the current climate life is unpredictable, but blood loyalty is stronger and more binding than marriage."

"Those are some strong moral codes you have there," wheezed the daimyo, leering, "One would mistake you for a samurai, had you not been raised a shinobi."

A miniscule, almost undetectable smirk pricked at Madara's lips. "Perhaps, or perhaps it is simply my code."

The daimyo's eyes lingered on his for a moment, then he turned away and flicked his hand. Madara had been dismissed.

* * *

When he wrote his report to Izuna later, complaining about a stubborn old goat dressed in the finest cloth, Madara felt physically drained. While he may be trained for days of combat, talking politics was an entirely different field of battle. Maybe for Hashirama, that smile of his worked on everyone he encountered. Apparently he'd been betrothed to an Uzumaki girl without his clan's knowing. When the bridal process started, he hurried to the Land of Whirlpools and married her.

He snorted.

 _Trust that idiot_ , he mused. The thought of what Tobirama's face must have looked like made Madara smile. _Serves that albino rat right_.

Hashirama was one of those men who believed in marrying for love, not duty. Madara had no desire to marry. Women were too fickle-minded; they had no set will. Another man may come along and off they go, trailing their dresses after a better candidate. He'd seen it plenty of times.

A pink glow passed over his paper from the open screens. Looking up, he spotted a slender figure with a peony lantern drifting through the gardens. Silvery blonde curls wound down her back, caressing her waist. Unexpectedly she turned, giving him her profile. From his room, he couldn't detail her face, but he recognised the clothes as that of a Shinto maiden: a pristine white yukata and blood-red hakama. Slightly bemused, Madara stood up to take a closer look when she passed by a large bush and disappeared from view.

Why was there a _miko_ in the palace?

* * *

When he and his brothers were younger, they would hurry to the communal fire to hear ghost stories and fairy tales about Momotaro or Kayuga-hime. One night, as the fire ebbed to ash, one of the older women spun a tale of ever-lasting love.

"Otsuyu waited and waited. She pined for Saburo, but he never came back. In the fall, as the sakura tree wilted, she passed on. In spring, Saburo returned and was told by his father what happened. He refused to believe him.

"Why?" he said, "My love promised me she would wait."

"And she did. One night, while Saburo laid tossing and turning in his bed, a light came from outside. There, standing underneath the glow of lantern, was Otsuyu and her maid. Saburo was overjoyed. That night they made lo—"

One of the other women coughed and murmured, embarrassedly, "Not at this age."

The old woman continued her story, unfazed. "In the morning Saburo awoke alone. Otsuyu had returned home to her jealous aunt without goodbye. But they each had promised night to see the other again the next night. And this continued for four weeks, and those four weeks saw Saburo became weaker and weaker. Worried, his mother called for a Shinto priest to cleanse the household. He hung a talisman at the door to ward off anything unnatural. As twilight came—"

"Madara! You and your brothers should be in bed!" yelled their mother. Without even pausing to hear the end of the story, the five boys scurried back home …

Cracking one eye open, Izuna gazed drowsily at the ceiling. That had been a long time ago. Why had he just remembered it now?

* * *

As foretold, the daimyo had Madara served breakfast in his room with instructions that he was to wait until summoned. To say the truth, Madara was seething that he was being treated as an inferior lackey. He was the head of the Uchiha clan! Still it provided him with a chance to gather information on the daimyo and his plans.

A maid asked permission to enter and he said, "Come in." As she was collecting the bowls, he touched her arm and she tensed. "I will not harm you, do not fear."

"S-sorry, Madara-sama."

"What do you know about the granddaughter?"

The maid stumbled slightly, but Madara caught her by the elbow and helped her regain balance. "Kajihime is a generous princess, devout and—"

"Shinto?"

The maid looked bewildered. "Err, um, yes. You have heard?"

Without a response, she took it as her cue to leave. Once the door was shut, Madara pensively glanced at the screens locking out the garden. A Shinto princess, huh …

 _Izuna,_

 _Please send Hikaku to the northern-west post to gather intel on the rumours of the Sarutobi trying to broker a peace treaty with the Senju. Depending on the information, we might have to act sooner rather than_

He stopped short, sensing someone watching him. Deftly, he slipped a kunai out of his sleeve pocket and flung it at the screens. A small squeal stopped him from throwing another. Marching over to the screens, he pulled them back to reveal a young woman in Shinto dress. Her lilac eyes were protuberant and bright. Staring up at him with a peculiar expression, the woman seemed to have stilled completely.

"Are you lost?"

She blinked. "No," she replied coolly, "I was wondering who the guest was. The maids have been gossiping, but I must say I am disappointed."

Madara quirked an eyebrow. "Am I not what you expected for a future husband?" Anyone else would have shivered at his cold tone, yet she stood there unfazed, fixing him with a taciturn look of her own. He nearly smirked.

"I do not know what you mean," said the strange woman.

"Kajihime."

The cold look became humourous. "Ah. You think I am the princess." She laughed, "I am afraid to say that while your betrothed lives in a shrine not far here, I am not her."

His eyes narrowed. "Then who are you?"

A coy, devilish smile coiled across her lips. "Tsurara."

"Madara." He said, after a moment's pause. Above them, the moon dimmed and the glow of her lantern cast dancing shadows across the ground.

Moonlight trickled inside through the open screens. His eyes were glued to the woman loitering at his window. There was something disconcertingly familiar about her, although he _knew_ he had never met her before. Silver curls slipped over her shoulder as she darted her eyes over to the fountain, the softly cascading water the only sound in the derelict garden. Her skin, he noticed, was so pale that it appeared not to have seen sunlight for months. It had a translucent quality. Faint blue veins fanned behind, cloistering round her neck and hands.

"Would you like to go for a stroll?" she asked abruptly.

He eyed her warily. "Are you truly a _miko_?"

She laughed, "If you do not wish to accompany me, then—"

"Wait." He turned, fetched his shoes and hopped through the window onto the porch and slid on his sandals. Tsurara raised her eyebrows, smiling, and said nothing. "How often to you haunt the gardens?"

"Interesting choice of words," she mused, "Not often. How often do you barter your bachelorhood for marriage?"

A trace of humour lit Madara's eyes. She had a sharp tongue, this one.

* * *

Another morning of waiting laid ahead for Madara the next day as he discovered. Tsurara had not revealed anything about Kajihime or the daimyo's plans, but he had enjoyed the wit she threw at him in her barbs. Residing in a daimyo's palace must have trained her not to trust people so easily. Perhaps if he could befriend her, she might divulge—

"The daimyo will see you now, Madara-sama."

The old fart's head maid loomed in the doorway, scowling. The Camelia suite was in a terrible state. Papers and scrolls were strewn about the place, the inkpot was overturned on the table and the window screens were only partly closed. She tutted lowly at the sight. Never had the daimyo had such a disgraceful guest in the palace! If the young lord saw this, he would—

"Madara-sama …"

He turned to look over his shoulder at the old maid. "You said he will see me, so I am going." Without another word, he escorted himself to the meeting room without her.

In the room, at the centre of a raised platform, lounged the Fire daimyo on top of several overstuffed cushions and small table beside him. A meek servant bowed her head, hands poised to pour sake. Madara inwardly scoffed at the man's sheer vanity. For an aged man, he was certainly enjoyed the riches of a life spent in idleness; it was unlikely he'd ever had to experience pain like a shinobi, or even samurai, yet he was keen to insult _his_ clan.

"Well, how quaint." He murmured scathingly.

"Sit down. Woman, sake!"

Another maid jerked forwards, abashed at the daimyo's shout. She was flustered as she poured Madara a drink, her hands trembling slightly. Once the cup was filled, she stepped back quickly. The old man slurped his sake noisily. Madara sipped his.

"Now, about this blood contract."

A tense moment passed between the two with the anxious maids looking on. The daimyo cleared his throat, "Ahem. Well, it sounds beneficial, but should you die in battle, I would have to renew it with your successor."

"Should I ever die in battle," Madara interjected, "while married to Kajihime, you would also need to find a new form of contract."

Clearly, the daimyo didn't appreciate being interrupted as he glared sternly at the offending Uchiha. "Kajihime would bear—"

"A child requires a regent and as your granddaughter has no knowledge of shinobi affairs, she would not be viewed as a candidate. Again you would find a need to re-sign a contract with my clan."

"A blood contract would only limit the Uchiha to serve me, which would benefit you," snapped the daimyo.

"Only if you were to die suddenly," quipped Madara, a subtle snide tone bleeding into his voice. Then it struck him. "You …"

" _Silence_."

A concealed door behind the daimyo slammed open and a middle-aged woman emerged, her hair adorned with ornate jewel flowers. Her painted face was wrinkled into a frown. "Father, that is enough. You must rest. Any further discussion regarding this matter shall be my concern." She shot Madara a venomous look. "Leave us, shinobi."

Disgruntled but weary from the royal family's attitude, Madara rose to his feet and departed the room, intent on writing another report for Izuna. It would serve the Uchiha better to cut ties, if it weren't for the money they paid.

* * *

An eerie, pinkish glow illuminated the fountain again that night. He noticed that she always appeared in the garden at night, he never saw her around the palace during the day. Her strange eyes troubled his thoughts whenever he was left alone in his suite.

"Are you a Hyuga?"

He observed her steadily. "I thought there was a shinobi rule – do not reveal your loyalties to unknown persons." The peony lantern hung limply in the air. "I am not a Hyuga."

"Your eyes resemble theirs," he pointed out.

"And the Uchiha and the Senju look much the same," Tsurara murmured drowsily, "Appearances are fascinating. Have you heard of the shapeshifting _kitsune_?"

"Every child has heard that story."

"Then, the _yuki-onna_?"

"Yes, the Snow Woman."

"The tale of Urashima Taro?"

"Many times."

" _Kiyohime_?"

"The dragon lady?"

Tsurara chuckled. "She was a priestess who transformed into a sea dragon after chasing the man who spurned her."

"Think that is a bit farfetched?" Madara grumbled.

"Taking a woman's virtue and then abandoning her before marriage warrants that kind of anger." She shifted her lantern. "Though many men say different. But think about it from her perspective: promised marriage, tricked into wantonness, and then abandoned and ruined. What would she have after that? Work at a _yukaku_? That is hardly worth living."

"Sounds fairly bitter," remarked Madara, eying Tsurara warily.

She chuckled humourlessly. "I am bitter." She turned and looked him in the eyes, smiling wryly. "It is the truth of womanhood that makes me this way."

"I think you are just—"

"None of that," snapped Tsurara, "You are refusing to marry a woman at present."

"I am refusing an arranged marriage, not the woman," Madara groused, growing incensed. The peony lantern bobbed as Tsurara's head whipped round to look at the far end of the garden. "The marriage would benefit the daimyo more than my clan. I have never met the woman."

"Kajihime?"

"You know her?"

"No, you called me that when you first saw me."

Amused by her expression, Madara resigned himself and told her, "I thought you were her then, yes." Tsurara rolled her eyes. "Perhaps if you were, I would not be so averse to marrying you." At her mortified blush, he sniggered.

* * *

Surprising his shoulder ached the next morning, in the exact spot Tsurara had struck him for his cheeky comment. Still it was worth it, to see her lovely face shocked after frowning.

"I do not to be disturbed, I will talk to him—"

"Young master, please—"

"No, now move outside. That is a command from your master."

"Please, milord, if your father—"

 _Slam_.

Madara looked up from his seat at the table. On the threshold stood a haughty, balding middle-aged man in an orange-red yukata. "Uchiha Madara, excuse my intrusion." He snapped the door shut behind him and crossed the room, seating himself opposite the Uchiha. "You have been negotiating with my father, the daimyo, until yesterday. My wife Hatsusebe convinced him to relinquish his demands for you to marry our daughter."

"Your name would be appreciated."

The daimyo heir furrowed his brows. "Yuge, the Crown Prince."

Madara quirked an eyebrow. "Indeed. So the marriage will not go ahead?"

"No," Yuge said. "Kajihime wishes to dedicate herself to aiding those less fortunate. As her father, I would not use her as a political tool against her wishes."

 _Against her wishes? So if she complied, he would …_ pondered Madara grimly. Without anything to add, they nodded in agreement and the prince left him alone to write another report to Izuna, giving him notice that he was returning home.

* * *

-x-

 _Miko_ = Shinto shrine maiden

 _Yukaku_ = 'pleasure quarters', also brothels and geisha houses


	2. Chapter 2

… 2 …

News of the potential Senju-Sarutobi alliance spread like wildfire across the states, reaching the Uchiha clan first. Madara grimaced at the report Hikaku had sent him. He had returned only a week ago and had already received summons from the Fire daimyo again, most probably because of this damn alliance. Izuna had expressed a (defiant) notion that he would stay in the clan stronghold for a meeting this important, so currently Madara and he were debating who to leave in charge.

"Hideyoshi would be a strong candidate," suggested Izuna.

"Until his wife called him for dinner," snubbed Madara, grumpy.

"Fine. Nori—"

"Not a chance."

"Well, you refused Hikaku!"

"He would be better in a flexible position, something where he can travel between posts. He can take charge if something serious happens"

"Takahito?"

"No."

"Masahito?"

"We do not have a Masahito in this clan."

Izuna grinned cheekily. "Well, I thought since you have refused every able-body male so far … who do you have in mind?"

"My first choice refused."

"Justifiably so," Izuna deadpanned, "I would be better with you at the daimyo's palace."

"Then that leaves Toshii," He sighed. "He has the knowledge and the respect to be an interim leader of the clan while we are absent."

"I sense a 'but' somewhere."

"I worry about his age. If something should suddenly …"

"Then make Hikaku his second."

Madara contemplated the suggestion. "That could work. Toshii could command the interior while Hikaku manages external relations … each to their strengths. However …"

Izuna visibly disheartened. "Please, stop overthinking this decision, Brother."

The elder Uchiha chuckled. "We still do not know how long we will be gone." When his little brother sighed in exasperation, he laughed.

* * *

"Izuna-sama is staying in the Chrysanthemum suite down the hall," the old maid stated, bowing, "We prepared the Camellia suite for you as you are familiar with the rooms." With a final bow, she exited the suite and left him to silence.

No sooner had the woman gone, his brother was sneaking in. "So, what is the strategy? How should we deal with the daimyo?" he whispered conspiringly.

Madara tsked. "Until we know what he intends, nothing. Just bear in mind these facts: he is stubborn, he will use the Uchiha despite _any_ casualties and lastly, he will only do what he believes will advance _him_." He heaved a sigh, scowling. "He is problematic, but his son is reasonable. It was the prince who agreed to terminate the marriage contract."

"Sounds like a charming man," Izuna muttered dryly.

* * *

The meeting with the daimyo did not happen until two days after the brothers arrived at the palace, by then Izuna was irritated and displeased with the daimyo's whims. However, they visited the village inside the palace walls. In an _ochaya_ , one of the geishas informed them of a story dating back to the Shinto temple's creation. The daimyo of the time was said to be possessed by _yokai_ and became cruel to the maidens in the temple, locking one in the palace dungeons until she renounced her beliefs and prayed to his god. Madara had scoffed at the story. The _geiko_ had rebuked him with an appraising look, but said nothing more.

"Brother, do you think he will see us soon?"

"One cannot tell," Madara said resignedly.

"This is outrageous, calling the leader of the Uchiha clan and then neglecting him—"

Madara sighed and moved to open the window screens, feeling the room become stuffy. Outside he spotted the dim glow of a lantern. "Tsurara …"

"Huh? Did you say something?"

Snapping back to his surroundings, Madara cleared his throat and shut the window screen. "No, just a fleeting thought. Anyway, about the Senju's alliance …"

* * *

An old proverb his mother taught him was that one can judge a man not by how he treated his equals, but rather how he treated his inferiors. If he was to judge the daimyo, Izuna would say he was the most irritating, conceited, egotistical, corrupt, old-fashioned, bigoted old tosser that ever existed! Three days!

"I hate nobles …"

"Do not say in front of anyone here, please," Madara grunted, entering the suite. Izuna grumpily glared at him. "I thought we should take another trip to the village."

"For what?"

"To kill time," Madara stated blandly, "The daimyo expects us to wait on him and that is something I will not do for any man like him."

Izuna grinned. "I would love to accompany you, Brother."

* * *

Irchiraku Ryotei was exquisite. After being served green tea, a _geiko_ waited on them with songs and poetry.

"Misako," Izuna started, "could you tell us some local legends? There must be lots in this region."

The painted face of the _geiko_ curled into a smile, dimples almost blurred by the white makeup. "There are many stories from this region, Izuna-dono. What would you like to hear?"

"A tragedy!"

Madara shot him a look, displeased. "Tragic tales are not always best to hear, little brother," he chided lightly, "Think of the tale of _Kiyohime_."

"My lords?"

Izuna turned his attention to the girl. " _Kiyohime_ is a story from our land. A princess who loved a travelling priest, only to be rejected and in her rage transforms into a dragon to pursue the man."

"Oh my! I have not heard of such a tale! Many of our stories talk of ghosts or tanukis."

"Ah, that must be interesting. Tanukis are my favourite—"

"That is because you are one." Madara muttered dryly. Misako held her mouth behind her sleeve and giggled secretly, while Izuna frowned at him. "Am I wrong?"

" _Yes_."

Madara's dark eyes glinted mischievously. "Surely not."

"Brother!"

"Misako, the story."

Bowing her head, she accepted his request; placing the teapot on the table, she begun, "In the founding of our town, the daimyo's ancestor Riichiro built a temple for priests and priestesses so they could bless the lands. They say the temple was beautiful, full of wealth and splendour greater than the palace. The priests had bargained with Lord Riichiro over its location, claiming that the temple should be in the centre of the town while the palace stood on the cliff face. They said it would symbolise the daimyo's closeness to the gods and the people's closeness to worship. But the daimyo thought they intended to intimidate the people and isolate his power.

"He instructed the temple to be build on the gateway to the mountains, so people could still visit and pray but the priests would have no influence on the town's governance. The priests had no choice but to accept, and they have lived in the mountains ever since.

"One day, after more than thirty years since the temple was built, a young priestess joined from Kirigakure. It's written that she was exiled from her temple because the priests lusted after her. And when the young lord saw her, he fell ill from a burning fever. Riichiro, fearing for his son, ordered the priestess to be brought before him. When she claimed she had done nothing to his son, he ordered her to receive a hundred lashes until she told him what curse she had placed on him. She said again she had done nothing. Even after a hundred lashes, she claimed innocence – it infuriated the daimyo! He ordered her to be locked up in the palace until she told him. Again and again he asked. For nearly two years she stayed confined to a dark room, fed only to keep her alive but powerless.

"On the anniversary of her arrival into our town, the daimyo's son discovered her hanging in the gardens. It is believed that the daimyo had ordered it."

Both brothers stared at her in repelled amazement. Izuna had been enthralled until the hanging, but Madara had grown more concerned between the similarities of the daimyo Riichiro and his living descendent. There seemed to be an inheritable trait of lingering, prolonging another's presence until no longer useful.

"So this story is genuine?" asked Izuna eagerly.

Misako inclined her head. "Yes, Izuna-dono. There are written records of a young _miko_ being arrested and imprisoned by the daimyo on his son's behalf."

"And this is the same daimyo who supposedly locked maidens up if they did not pray to his god?"

Misako laughed kindly. "Izuna-dono, that tale is untrue. The daimyo only locked one maiden away, and that is the tale I have told you. He was a suspicious man, but not unjust."

"He sounds like the daimyo of now," groused Madara.

* * *

Just as he thought she would not appear, the dim pinkish glow crept through the bushes. She blinked owlishly at him.

"I did not think you would be outside so late," she explained, after he gave her an appraising look.

"So you deliberately waited until later before venturing into the garden, in hopes to avoid me?" Madara surmised, quirking an eyebrow. She frowned at him as he looked thoughtful. "Tsurara, what are you in the palace?"

"Why do you ask now? It did not bother you before."

"I heard a story in one of the _ryotei_."

"Those places have many stories. How should I know which one you were told?"

"It was about a priestess from Kirigakure," He paused, scrutinising her expression. "The first daimyo Riichiro killed her."

"I have not heard that one. Is it a ghost story?"

"No, a tragedy. I merely wondered why a _miko_ would be walking the halls of this palace when there was such a history?"

"I wonder, too, why a shinobi meddles with the affairs of a Shinto maiden. Have you not heard of the story of Tenno and Umeko?"

"Enlighten me."

She scoffed. "I am in the palace because the Crown Prince ordered it."

"Why would Yuge do that?"

There was a subtle pitying expression in her eyes, though Madara hesitated to even define it as pity. It was closer to—

"Why would any cat corner a mouse? Amusement, power, domination? 'Men know how to command; women ought to obey.' That is what we are all led to believe. It is what corrupts the world and tears it into conflict. Have you never wanted peace?" Their eyes met and Madara felt a thrill of anxiety race up his spine. "I want that more than life itself."

With nothing else to say, she vacated the gardens. The pink hue of her lantern guiding her away.

* * *

Sometime between the twelfth and the thirteenth hour, Madara was awoken by his brother's clumsy attempt to be sneaky.

"What are you after, rascal?"

"Hikaku has sent a report. The Sarutobi have signed an alliance with the Senju."

Madara jerked out of his futon and glowered at his younger brother. " _What?_ " he seethed. He snatched the parchment out of Izuna's hand.

"They are now brothers-in-arms, according to Hikaku. They have a ninjutsu contract, empowered by the Uzumaki Hashirama married. Brother, this will make it more difficult—"

" _I know that!_ What is Toshii doing? Where is Hikaku now? The northern-west border must be reinforced with watchers, we must send at least another dozen men to the border in case of a—"

"Brother, the Sarutobi will not attack us."

"Oh?" Izuna flinched at his brother's leering tone. "And why not? Because they fear being overwhelmed? With the Senju's support, we will be fearing _them_!" _It was against the natural order!_ Madara fumed.

Intimidated, Izuna cleared his throat. "There is another letter. From Toshii." He held it out to Madara. One more jeering look at the scroll and he accepted it – then immediately regretted it.

" _THEY WANT WHAT?_ "

* * *

Fuming was not a word often used to describe Madara—at least, not to physically describe him at all—but today was a wholly different case. Hashirama's suggestion, as Toshii had reported it to his clan leader, can gone down worse than the metaphorical lead balloon. The Camellia suite was quite literally destroyed. Izuna had apologised profusely to the old maid, who had actually fainted at the sight before regaining consciousness and bleating like a mocked old goat. Afterwards Madara was shoved out into the gardens, as his hostility was worsening the situation. Thus, how he found himself staring at the charred ruins of an annex, tucked away at the far end of the palace gardens.

Feeling his ire ebb bit by bit, he wandered around the annex, trying to figure out what it had been. The skeletons of furniture indicated that it had been a living quarter of some sort. Perhaps for a concubine? The ash was nowhere near fresh, so it was not recent.

Stepping closer over broken wood and shredded debris, he noticed scratchings in the stone wall at the far side. At first he thought it looked like where the roof had fallen, scraping on its fall down. Then he recognised a symbol:

 _Thriving_

It was cut deeper into the stone, so the smears of ash could not disguise it.

But the word made no sense. If anything, it was ironic. 'Thriving' in a derelict ruin? He crept closer and rubbed the wall. Sure enough, there were other scratches. Each forming a word.

 _Death … to live … and not … to thrive._

He couldn't discern what the other scratches translated. The writing was old, dating back perhaps several centuries. His knowledge of runes and the ancient tongue was limited, gathered from an elder he'd once met as a boy. Why, in the name of the Sage of Six Paths, was there writing _here_?

Feeling suddenly peculiar, Madara left the ruins, looking over his shoulder back at the runes.

That night he had been reassigned a suite, one of lesser furnishings and definitely lesser grandeur, but what troubled Madara was the runes more than the Senju proposition.

No one had mentioned a fire in the daimyo's palace before. The destroyed annex had looked abandoned for many years, with brambles growing over it and the ash hardened. The ambiguous roots of the runes, almost impersonating a curse, brought forth the story of the young priestess to Madara's mind. Misako had mentioned documents ascertaining the priestess's existence. She had died in the palace. Though he didn't believe it was hanging in the gardens, that sounded like a rather elaborate detail to embellish the tale.

Who in the palace would about this?

He could hardly approach the old maid. Certainly, she would know something about the annex and maybe even the priestess story, but she wanted him expelled from the town. He had no ally in her.

Damn.

Every time he came to this place, he ended up with a load of new questions and scarcely any answers.

* * *

Currently Madara had been exempted from meetings with the royals, so Izuna was forced to attend on his own. He hated snobs and here he was, surrounded by them. He'd have preferred a _yukaku_ – things would have been much more entertaining.

"This alliance," started the Crown Prince, "how strongly would it threaten the Uchiha?"

"At present, the alliance has not admitted to any military agreements. It is a peace treaty, swearing that neither clan will fight the other."

"While the ideal is perhaps honourable for shinobi," sniffed the prince's wife, her doughy face a shade too haughty for Izuna's liking. "It has no realistic interpretation. Alliances between clans oft change, do they not? How may the Uchiha break this one?"

Izuna blinked. "Break?"

"Yes, break. It means to nullify, to split apart. You must _know_ what I mean."

"Forgive me if this offends you, but shinobi clans have honour and our word is resolute when it is given. The Sarutobi and Senju, while I dislike both exceedingly, are clans of honour. They will not be broken apart, especially not on the demands of a woman ignorant of shinobi affairs."

The glaring contest between the two became blatantly clear. The Crown Prince Yuge cleared his throat and looked discouragingly at his wife. "Hatsusebe, enough. He is right. The clans will not be broken apart by others' deeds."

"Hmph!"

He looked over to Izuna, "Consult with your brother. I do not wish to rush into anything. These times are growing more perilous. The meeting will resume tomorrow morn."

"Yes, sir." Izuna inclined his head and stood up, following the maid out.

* * *

"Brother?"

"Did you know there are ruins at the back of the palace gardens?"

"Um, no. Is that important?"

"Or that Yuge has also ordered a miko to stay within the palace and will not let her leave?"

Izuna gave him a funny look. "Have you been dreaming again?"

"I have not dreamed for nine months, no. Why? And you did not answer my question."

"You are asking me odd questions, so that is why I asked." At Madara's flat look, Izuna added, "The meeting will resume tomorrow. You might even be allowed back."

"Urgh," The thought of it brought on a headache. "Did you not resolve anything today?"

"Well, the prince agrees with me that his wife knows nothing of our clans or the shinobi world in general. That does count?"

Madara considered it for a moment, then nodded once. "Well done. That is a victory."

Izuna smiled naughtily. "You think of her as highly as I do, then, brother," He sat down opposite him. "Why ever would a man marry someone like that?"

"Some _thing_ ," Madara corrected, "Women do not view others as weapons like that _abazure_ does."

"Hmm," Izuna hummed quietly, eyeing his brother quietly. "Why were you asking about ruins in the palace? And a _miko_? That seems odd for you."

"I found some runes there and no one has mentioned any stories about the palace burning at any point," he mumbled, focusing on the pieces in front of him. "Play me."

"Madara, you know I dislike _shoji_."

"I am not playing _cho-han_ in a palace."

"But—"

"If you say gambling is fun," snapped Madara, "then you can tell that to the council. I'm sure the elders will appreciate your sentiments."

Izuna swallowed. "Fine."

Madara arched an eyebrow.

"So, what's this about a _miko_?"

"Why do you focus on the woman instead of the ruins?"

"There are many ruins, Madara, this is a time of war. But a captive _miko_ is interesting." reasoned Izuna plainly. "Now, how do you know about her?"

For a moment he faltered. "She, err, told me."

Izuna blinked. His brother never stumbled over his words! "So you have spoken with this _miko_? I have not seen her anywhere in this palace."

"I believe she is only granted freedom to roam at night."

"Careful, brother. Many _yokai_ wander at night."

Madara scoffed. "Izuna, she is as living as you and I. That woman is not a _yokai_ , but a prisoner in her lord's household."

"Kitsunes can adopt the personage of a beautiful woman, Madara. You—"

"I know what I see!" Madara growled, "She is living, not a ghoul or a fox trickster!"

Resigning himself, Izuna quietened down and listened to his brother's story.

* * *

-x-

 _Ochaya_ = tea-house where geisha entertain

 _Yokai_ = supernatural monsters, spirits and demons

 _Geiko_ = another word for geisha

 _Ryotei_ = restaurants where geisha entertain


	3. Chapter 3

… 3 …

Not long after he finished did Izuna speak. "You met her when you first came and assumed she was the princess? A Shinto shrine maiden as a princess?" For some reason he just could not wrap his head round it. "And if she was, would you … ?"

"Does it matter? That issue has been dealt with. I want to know what the royals are hiding."

"Apart from a miko and some ruins," Izuna muttered dryly, "Brother, does this matter? There are daimyos everywhere who acquire concubines or handmaidens. It is _not_ uncommon."

"But …"

Izuna narrowed his eyes at him. "I thought you never believed in _yokai_ stories."

"I do not. They are fantasies."

"Mm-hmm. I think your miko is a fan—"

Madara clapped a hand over his mouth and gazed ardently at the open window. Izuna turned his eyes and noticed a strange pink glow. Madara looked back to him. "Come. You will meet her."

"Wait, what?"

Without looking back, Madara dashed to the window overlooking the far end of the palace gardens. "Tsurara?" he called out to the darkness. Several minutes of silence echoed through the shadowy landscape. When Madara was going to call for her again, there was a faint rustle.

"Madara?"

Hearing his brother's name, Izuna became alert and cautious. He stepped closer to the window beside his brother and gazed out. What he saw surprised him. Silver coils of hair framed a pale face, the colours of a priestess's uniform misplaced amongst the regal magnolias. Violet eyes blinked at him. "You have company," she murmured.

"My brother, Izuna," introduced Madara, "Tsurara, the ghost of the gardens."

Tsurara's face tightened. "Ghost? Are you trying to be spiteful?"

"No," Izuna blurted out. "No, he means it … he means that you only appear at late hours." Madara raised an eyebrow at him but said nothing. They remained staring at the woman outside. "Would – would you come in, Tsurara-san?"

At first she regarded him warily, trying to suss out his intentions. Seeing no threat, she nodded and stepped towards the porch, settling her lantern outside on the garden path.

* * *

A bright, scorching sun rested on the town the next day. After a fruitless meeting with the royals, Izuna and Madara had taken to a _chaya_ – at Izuna's insistence, Madara would claim. An exceptionally fine _oiran_ had tended to the brothers and was currently fawning over Izuna, who had sprawled across the cushions and rested his head on her lap.

Trailing a finger along her thigh, Izuna called over to Madara, "You should pick a companion. Release that stress you have built up with this daimyo, brother."

"I would rather have the energy to contend with the old goat than spend it on menial pleasures, Izuna." was the curt response.

"The daimyo will keep us here regardless of our energy," Izuna defended, "Just like his son. We might as well enjoy ourselves while we are in this – _charming_ – town." His eyes glowed as the oiran blushed, his fingers creeping into the folds of her kimono.

Madara harrumphed. "Take him to a room and be done with him." He snapped.

Izuna guffawed. "You have no finesse! Poor lady, please excuse my brother. He needs to be soothed by a feminine touch."

At the implication she nodded and called out towards the door, in a soft tone, "Kotone."

A few seconds later, the door slid open to reveal a dashing young woman kneeling on the threshold. Bowing her head once more, she rose and glided into the room. The oiran subtly gestured to the reproachful-looking Uchiha in the corner, staring hard at her. Kotone bowed before him. "My lord."

"You can rise."

"Thank you for your kindness, my lord."

Her voice already grated on his nerves. Izuna smirked at him from his position on the cushions. Madara stared down at her, almost defiantly challenging her to make the first move. "Let me guess … a _taiko_ _shinzou_?"

She bristled, although she tried to hide it. "Nay, my lord. Though I am flattered by your assumption."

Inwardly, he felt displeased – not because she was a _tomosode shinzou_ , but rather because he simply did not want to be in this situation. Whatever she chose for her career was none of his concern.

 _"_ _Work at a yukaku? That is hardly worth living."_

He nearly choked on his tongue, recalling the abrasive comment. Violet eyes pierced his mind's eye, the pink glow illuminating her cheekbones, accenting the peak of her lips—

His hand shot out without a thought. The fragile wrist of the young woman—perhaps he should say girl, for she was much younger than him—quivered underneath his fingers. The _oiran_ 's eyes narrowed at him from across the room. Izuna cleared his throat loudly.

"Brother?"

Madara's eyes bored into hers. "I want no woman to think she is above me," his voice rumbled, though he wasn't sure what he was saying, "nor do I want that kind of entertainment. Play the _koto_ , or leave."

Across the room the oiran had seen enough. She barked for her _kamura_ to enter and a little girl tottered inside, alarm scarring her face as she saw her sister-friend cowering at a man. The little helper looked to her mistress, who nudged her head towards the _shinzou_. With the bravery of a shinobi child, she went to him and tapped his sleeve gently. "Please, Uchiha-dono, let Kotone-chan go."

His eyes flickered down to the child. Then his fingers sprung back, like a lock breaking, and the girl clutched her wrist to her chest. The _kamura_ sighed. Another bark from the _oiran_ and all three departed, apparently no longer interested in doing business with them.

"Urgh, Madara!" groaned Izuna.

He stared at his hand, now laying limply in his lap. He wasn't sure why, but Tsurara's words seemed to have hit a nerve. At the time he had agreed that joining a _yukaku_ was not a pleasant life, but surely to be alive outweighed the cost? Being lined up in a _harimise_ would be intimidating, he could guess that, but to be still living … then when he was propositioned by the girl, he just – he couldn't describe it.

He was starting to see what she meant.

* * *

More than twenty times Izuna brought up the fact that the oiran was secured with great painstaking difficulty, so to get one without the proper procedure was a 'once-in-a-lifetime' feat. In the end, Madara handed him some money and sent him off to the _yukaku_ district. He wanted nothing to do with _yuujyo_ anymore.

Instead he returned to the palace and ventured back to the burnt ruins in the gardens. One rune in particular had been on his mind. If his second thoughts on it were right, then the meaning may be different to what he first thought.

There. That one.

 _Death … to plague … to be afflicted … to be cursed …_

Ah. His second thoughts were right. The runes uttered a curse of some sort, though he still couldn't figure out all the symbols. _Cursed to live … and not to thrive …_ It didn't make much sense. What sort of curse forced someone to live? He must be reading it wrong. Maybe he could ask Hikaku or Toshii to send Elder Nihon's journal.

* * *

Later that night, once Izuna had returned sporting a rather content expression, Madara brought to his attention his plan for the next meeting.

"If we suggest that an alliance with another clan appears weak, then maybe we can persuade them to finance more than just our clan. Say, the Shimura? The Sarutobi and Shimura have long been rivals, especially for the notice of the Senju. The Shimura must feel unacknowledged by Hashirama because of this contract. If we can manipulate them just so, make them think that maybe the Senju are not aware of the Shimura's persistence and ability to strategize – we may be able to make things work in our favour."

"Sounds good," Izuna nodded, "But what about the daimyo and Crown Prince? Will they be convinced?"

Madara only offered a simple answer: "They will be."

Watching his little brother nod in agreement, Madara waited for him to finally say what had been on his mind. Izuna noticed the change in the air and pulled an innocent face. "Are you waiting for something, brother?"

"Out with it."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Whatever it is. Say it."

A wicked grin crawled across his lips. "I spoke to the _yarite_."

"Ugh. Izuna!"

"We are going to the _yukaku_ tomorrow afternoon and—"

"I am not going to a whorehouse!"

"You had no problems with going before," Izuna pointed out, pouting. "I understand you have never been keen on young girls – and that one _was_ young. She was even younger than me! But I think—"

"I do not want it, Izuna."

"Saving yourself for a _miko_ , are you?"

Madara's eyes flashed red, a warning. "Do not be so ridiculous!"

"Then why the sudden change? I know that you have not found your faith! You swore off gods and prayers long ago, so …" He leaned forwards. "Why the sudden change, big brother?"

Silence enveloped them. "Because I … I no longer think it is right for a woman to sell herself in order to live."

A cold stare met his words. "Right? Is it right for us and our brothers to fight for _our_ survival? A woman can marry and remain honourable if she wishes, selling her body to a willing payer means nothing to the suffering of our brothers, Madara. Our clan." Izuna's eyes searched his face. "Why should a woman's feeble body symbolise more importance than our own lives?"

"That is not what it symbolises," Madara explained slowly, "What she symbolises is the corruption in this world. Power has become monetary, there is value in coins and paper and not in people."

Izuna blinked, visibly taken aback.

"Women and men are no different; we must all survive. They bargain their bodies and we our lives. Who is to say which is worthier? The life of a _yujo_ or a shinobi?"

Izuna saw his point, and Madara finally understood Kiyohime's anger.

* * *

Ripples in the pond rocked the lilies ever so slightly and above them the magnolia's blossoms scattered to the ground. Sunset streaked the skies in burnt-out orange and rosy flushes of red. The gardens were bathed in a golden light from the sun, rich in warmth and highlighting the beauty of the flowers. The water of the pond was almost transparent, like a film across a window that allows the looker to see out within being touched.

There, beside the ageing birdbath laid an unlit lantern, crumbled and untouched.

* * *

"You must adore evenings, Madara-san. I cannot think of why you would frolic in the garden at such times otherwise."

He bit the inside of his cheek to suppress his smile. "Ah, yes. It is the only time I find solitude from bigoted old men and politics."

"Ah, it must be hard. To barter for power." She tutted lightly, fanning her face. This evening she didn't have the peony lantern. "A man's world is a cruel mistress."

He tutted at her. "Alas, the lady is without a light. How should I have known you were coming?"

She quirked an eyebrow at him. "After your surprise the other night, I thought it was best." She looked over to the magnolia trees. "It is best few know of me, in case."

"In case of what?" was his question, but she shook her head and he accepted it for now. "Are you local to this land?"

"To the land, yes, but not to this town. Are you?"

"I live within the borders," His eyes glinted defiantly, "But I have no true ruler. My clan and I are not _servants_ —" He spat the word. "—to anyone. If only you knew our history."

"I have heard of the Uchiha throughout my life." At his defensive look, Tsurara laughed. "It was rather obvious."

"You have still to reveal your name to me," Madara suggested pointedly.

"You know my name and you have guessed it as well. Wrongly, too."

They shared a secret smile and then Tsurara turned away, unexpectedly breathless. "You could get in trouble for being seen with me."

"Are you sure you are not Kajihime?"

Her laugh became cold. "No, good Heavens! I would not like to be related—" Horrified, she clapped her hands over her mouth and stared, wide-eyed, at him. "Ignore that! Forget what I say—"

He leaned in closer, so close it would have been considered inappropriate for them to be alone together. "What have you drunk?"

"Be quiet, you are no better!"

"Since when have I met you that pickled?"

"I am not pickled! I am not a fruit!"

He raised an eyebrow and decided against arguing. "Let me return you to your room." She pushed his hand away and stepped back. "You should not be wandering the gardens in your state—"

"What do you know of my state?"

Every other time they had met, her eyes had held a semblance of something warm, something alive and spirited – like a wild horse running across the plains. She was unbridled with that sharp tongue, but clever. Not wild in a barbaric way. Her intelligence shone through in her speech. But seeing her now, with those hardened eyes and detached voice … he found this side of her thrilling and yet … threatening.

"What do you know of my _state_?"

It didn't register, the word she emphasised. The question seemed intimidating, even for him. All friendliness had been washed from her face like a mask removed. He was seeing her again for the first time, bare and inexplicitly raw. So many emotions crashed into her eyes, a calamitous wave of emotions hurled between him and her. What did he know … she was trapped here in the palace by a royal, away from a life she craved for … did she have a family, friends … or a beloved back there, in her village?

"I … I'm sorry."

That broke the spell. Tsurara's eyes watered and her face crumpled. "I have nothing." She whispered. Madara held out an arm to steady her, but instead she clung to him. "I am becoming nothing."

 _"_ _That is hardly worth living."_

Her words were beginning to make sense in a disjointed way. Her disapproval of men betraying their word, abandoning women to ruin … it must have something to do with her imprisonment. Did she see the palace as a _yukaku_ or something worse?

* * *

This meeting was more eventful than the last two, in Izuna's opinion.

Madara had made a strong entrance: he loosened his kimono and forwent any formalities. He was here for a decision, a verdict. That was his brother, always ready to fight for the clan. Defiantly, he stared at the daimyo in the eye and raised his chin. Done was he with waiting on the old fart or his son. The Uchiha clan's future was his priority.

"I propose the Shimura as a precautionary truce against the Senju-Sarutobi alliance."

The old daimyo blinked at him, quite astonished by the shinobi's attitude. Then his features twisted into an outraged expression. "You propose or you command?"

A snide smirk replied.

"You dare impose upon me your desires? What good would the Shimura be against the Senju?"

"They would be an advantage against the Sarutobi, whilst _we_ deal with the Senju." Slowly, slowly, catchy monkey was the strategy. So far it seemed to be working; Madara could see the disused gears grinding strenuously in the old man's head. "The contract with the Shimura need not be permanent. It can be a temporary measure for now."

The daimyo weighed up his options. Prince Yuge looked to his father and then at Madara curiously. "Your plan sounds persuasive. But what if the Shimura refuse?"

Madara's face held an indescribable emotion as he focused on the prince. Since hearing Tsurara claim him as her capturer, he wasn't sure what to make of the man. "I highly doubt they will."

"Then …" He looked to his father. "This sounds much more agreeable, Father. If you consider—"

"So … the Uchiha would not be able to defeat them, if that what you are saying?" The daimyo sneered, adding, "Or rather, trying not to say."

Madara would have liked to rip his head off, but he knew he couldn't say that. "The Uchiha can match the Senju. But there is no clan capable of holding their own against two distinguished clans on the same battlefield."

The daimyo snorted. Prince Yuge turned to him and frowned. "Father, these men give their lives for us. And Madara has a good point – no one can fight two clans at once. Please, do not expect the impossible. They are still men, not gods."

"I heard a story when I was a young boy."

Madara did not comment, though Izuna's sceptical face spoke volumes.

"The Uchiha and the Senju were the sons of the Sage of Six Paths. He himself was a god! Both clans have overcome – _unfeasibly_ – phenomenal achievements. Nonetheless, one cannot expect – perhaps – another kind of phenomenon from them?"

" _Father!_ "

The old man sneered at the brothers, his wrinkled face crinkling like aged paper. "Enact whatever plan you wish. I will have no part in it. Yuge," he barked suddenly, "you will bear responsibility should this fail miserably. With all my experience, I do not believe the Shimura will make an ounce of difference – a clan like that!" Without anything left to say, he waved as arm, clearly disgruntled.

The Uchiha men did not wait for another gesture, rose and soundlessly left. Their goal had been accomplished.

* * *

After talking things through the Crown Prince, finalising details about the treaty, they were allowed one last night in the palace before returning to their clan. Just as Izuna turned to leave Madara's room, he paused by the doorway. "Brother?"

"Hmm?"

"What the daimyo said … how do you think he knows that story?"

Madara paused. He, too, had been concerned when the old goat mentioned it. "I am unsure. He may have overheard it from somewhere. As long as we do not prove him correct, there should be no problem. Do not worry."

Though his brother could not see, Izuna nodded. "And there's something else."

"Go on."

"Do you ever … do you think of them sometimes? Of what they would be like now?"

At once Madara's shoulders drooped and he sighed. "I think of them every day. I would have been proud no matter how they turned out. Even if it was like you."

A weak smile and a trickle of feeble laughter. "I am glad. That I am not alone."

"No," Madara murmured, becoming quieter, "Neither of us are."

* * *

-x-

 _Oiran_ = beautiful prostitute in a yukaku, Edo period. Highly regarded.

 _Chaya_ = a tea-house where one could engage an _oiran_ 's services.

 _Harimise_ = where prostitutes line up for a customer to select one of them. Oiran women did not partake in this form of prostitution

 _Kamuro_ = 10 years old. They did everyday chores of the oiran and learned about _yuujyo_ (prostitution).

 _Shinzou_ = ( _furisode_ ) young girls 15-16 who are learning to be oiran; did not take customers. ( _bandou_ ) not particularly attractive girls/too old to become _yuujyo_. ( _tomosode_ ) same age as _furisode_ but were not going to be high class oiran and so took customers. ( _taiko_ ) did not do sexual services, but showed off talents and entertained.

 _Yarite_ = person who contact to get the oiran and other prostitutes

* * *

Thank you for your reviews, **Blahyourface1234** and **CrimsonSorceress**. :) hope you enjoyed it!


	4. Chapter 4

… 4 …

The agreement between the Fire daimyo and the Shimura shifted many things into their favour. As the months drifted into autumn and then winter, there was no reason for Madara to be called away from the clan stronghold. His thoughts slowly became occupied with rations, war preparations and other necessities – gone were his conspiracies about the Crown Prince and a secluded _miko_. After a particularly trying mission to retrieve stolen scrolls for a Fire nobleman, he found himself in one of Izuna favourite places, staring at a nearly-overcrowded _harimise_. Many lovely faces stared up at them. But one caught his eye.

Her eyes were the wrong colour, and her hair was a shade too light, but she looked similar enough. Although similar enough to who, he couldn't explain.

Halfway through their foreplay, he realised.

"Tsurara …" he grunted.

His fingers traced the column of her neck. A faint pulse beat steadily under his fingers, strands of her hair slipping onto his hand. She was similar enough, this _yujo_ , but not the same. Physically she was enough. He clasped her forearm and pulled her on top, his gaze becoming apathetic. The excitement had worn off, though his need was still thrumming underneath his skin. He grasped her hips and plunged himself inside her. Ignoring her squirming, he pumped and thrusted like a wild deer rutting. His doe had given quite a vocal performance before her mewling cries turned into whimpering gasps.

She was not similar, after all. But then why did he care?

* * *

The forests surrounding the Senju village was plentiful and abundant. In the days of their father, a rumour circulated that a _kitsune_ had lived in it and seduced unruly shinobi who dared enter her lair. The endings of these stories varied, but there was a common moral: do not give into temptation. And Tobirama was one of those men who did not revel in excess of anything. Unlike his elder brother.

"Hashirama, will you put that down!"

"Awww, but Tobirama! We have a bet!"

" _No_."

Perhaps he took after his father more than he liked to admit. Hashirama resembled a scolded child with that pouty look. Still, he was the clan leader and gambling and drinking were not respectable hobbies! Eyeing his brother sternly, Tobirama grasped the scruff of his kimono. Hashirama's hands went to grab as many pieces of silver and gold as he could, but Tobirama yanked him away. They _were_ leaving the gambling house before Hashirama lost a fortune.

On the way home, Hashirama pouted at him and Tobirama ignored it. Mito had asked him to locate him, he had done that. She had asked him to bring him home if he was gambling, he was doing it.

Yet … why had she married his brother?

Why not him?

She depended on him just as much as Hashirama and before they had revealed their marriage—or even their courtship, as no one knew of it previously—she had spent more time with him than Hashirama. Perhaps he would have not made as good a husband. He could not be openly emotional with anyone. After their mother's—

He shook his head.

Enough. Enough, enough! They were brothers and Tobirama was happy for him. They were alive and that meant more than anything else.

Even if he took after their father, he would always be kind to his brother. In his own way.

* * *

Cracks were beginning to deepen in the grand rooms; rot and moss spread about the palace gardens like a sickness. In his bedroom, the old daimyo choked out, " _Stop_." None but his doctor heard.

The curse had been triggered. Someone had slipped something away from the gardens. Orders had been given that not even a flower were to be removed! Who had defied him?

Not even the _miko_ his forefather Riichiro employed could break the cursed writings. Even though it resembled a Kirigakure tongue, she claimed that it was nothing like she had seen before. Riichiro's journals indicated that it had existed before the palace was created. The site had belonged to an extinct clan who had been expelled from the Land of Water. Kajihime had been sent to many temples and shrines to locate someone capable of freeing the family from the perished clan's curse.

 _Never to thrive living._

And had they? Their wealth never increased, but it never lessened. Every marriage resulted in one child. Enough to keep going, but …

The _miko_ that she had found – all his hopes rested on her.

* * *

Madara had postponed the meeting with the clan elders in hopes of finding Elder Nihon's journals. The library was sprawling with scrolls, _orihon_ and _washi_ -paper books. Yet the one he wanted would be tucked in the furthest corner, nearest to the most valuable scrolls.

There it was.

Flipping up to the top shelf, he grabbed it and then dropped back down to the ground with a light _thump_. Surely there would be something on runes.

Just as he was about to open it, a spiky-haired head stuck out from one of the long rows of manuscripts. "Madara-sama, the elders demand you attend the meeting instantly."

"Thank you, Hikaku. I'm coming."

He slipped the folding-book into his _haori_. When he turned around, he inclined his head to his kinsman and processed out of the library.

* * *

Things had been going well so far, though she knew there were a few disapproving clansmen—and women—around. Still she was secure and could do more good as a Senju than an Uzumaki. It had taken a lot of persuading, but she was finally in position.

The only problem was that now she was a wife, she wasn't permitted onto the battlefield.

She hadn't seen that curveball coming.

It would only be a matter of time, though. Some sweet-talking and maybe a bit of arm-twisting and she'd be back out there. The Senju were different from the Uzumaki, but the key values were the same: family first. Nothing was more important than family.

And she had done herself in with that, too.

To be fair to him, she had been tempted to marry him rather than Hashirama. But then her position would still be limited, and she doubted she'd be able to get away with nearly as much as she'd done already. Tobirama was more her type in a sense: direct, focused, serious – he never skived off to play _cho-han_ or any other gambling game. He knew the importance of his position and respected it. Sometimes she felt that perhaps choosing suitability over position would have been a happier outcome. Then she would brush off the thought, tell herself that it needed to be done and consider her next move.

Like Ashina-sama said, "For family we must always choose the right choice. Never a selfish one." So that was the end of it.

"I'm home, Mito-chan!"

She heaved a sigh.

* * *

"Mama, tell me the story of the _Yuki-onna_ again!"

His mother laughed, settling down beside his futon. "You like that story very much, Madara." She brushed aside his unruly hair and kissed his forehead. "Surely you know it by heart now."

"Please," Those big dark eyes always got him what he wanted. After all, he had two brothers now! "I love you, Mama."

"And I love you to the moon and stars, my little phoenix," Giggling, she nuzzled into him and he chuckled, eyes bright. "The Yuki-onna … they say she was a beautiful woman, a reincarnation of the great goddess Amaterasu herself. But …" Her lips curved upwards. "She was born different. She was immune to the cold and even in the hottest summer, her skin was cold to the touch. Her parents, fearing that they had displeased the gods, abandoned her to mountains and hoped that the gods would reclaim her. But she grew up, alone and scared of people. Then one day she met a man drowning in the shores of an icy lake.

"She called out to him and when he shouted for help, she used her powers to save him. She took him back to her cave and looked after him all night. When morning came, he felt much better and asked her how he could ever repay her.

"She said, "Please, visit me every week and tell me stories of the village at the base of the mountain." And he agreed. Every week he came and told her stories. Each time he told her about the village she wanted to see it for herself. To taste oden, to feel the warm _kakefuton_ as she slept and to see the people! The village began to seem like a heavenly dream within reach.

"After four months, though, he stopped. By that time, the Yuki-onna had left the mountain and a new girl had come to the village."

"The Yuki-onna!" cheered Madara excitedly.

His mother chuckled. "Shh." He flushed and waited for her to continue. "This girl was perfect to the man; she was so beautiful, that all the other men in the village would envy him if he married her! So he approached her and asked her if he could court her, and she said yes. But only on one condition: that he would not ask her where she came from. The man agreed and started to woo her. Soon they were married and the man thought he had everything he could ever want. Then one day some villagers discovered the Yuki-onna's lair. Remembering his promise and how he had broken it, the man told his wife that they should move away.

""But why?" she asked him, "We are so happy here."

"The man could not answer his wife, worried that she might leave him if she knew about the Yuki-onna. But the Yuki-onna had not be seen in five years, and the couple had two children who were too young to move away. So the man did not ask his wife again. After a village meeting, the man returned home and told his wife that they were planning to find the Yuki-onna and kill her. He also mentioned that she had saved him when he nearly died years before and cried to his wife that he wanted to save her if he could.

"His wife replied, "But you have already saved her, my love." And when he asked her what she meant, she said, "It is I, the yuki-onna you met six years."

"The man was shocked and horrified. How could his beautiful wife be the yuki-onna? He would have known! And they looked nothing alike! The yuki-onna hid her face behind her hair and the only time he saw even a sliver of her face was her blue lips! He told her she was wrong and his wife became angry.

""I am a yuki-onna!" she shouted, "And I am your wife! I saved you from drowning in that lake and asked you to tell me stories every week!"

"The man could not believe what he was hearing. His beautiful wife was the creature his village was hunting. And their children … What would become of them, he wondered. What even were they, human or _yukinko_? He had so many questions. Fearing that he might betray her, the yuki-onna told him that as long as they had their children, they would be safe and happy. But that did not calm the man down. Fearing that the villagers would think he hid the yuki-onna from them, he resolved to tell the village elder the next day."

His mother smiled at him, stroking his cheek. "I think you should sleep now, little firebird."

Struggling to keep his eyes open, Madara mumbled a stubborn refusal but drifted into a slumber anyway. His mother giggled and kissed his forehead once more before exiting his room.

…

He had forgotten it was his mother who told him the story of the _yuki-onna_. Maybe that was why it was his favourite, because it was her story. How many years now …

He closed his eyes briefly as another elder begun speaking. How many more years to go before he could see them again …

* * *

"Get out of my study, rascal!"

A little sheepish grin settled on Izuna's features as he glanced up at his older brother. "But dear brother, you need a rest from all of these duties. I heard that Tatsumi-san has acquired some new girls from Kiriga—"

"I have not the slightest interest in loitering at a _chaya_ or _yukaku_ , Izuna. These provisions need to be decided before next week, so we can order enough rations of—"

"But Madara, you do nothing _but_ work!"

"I am the clan leader, this is necessary—"

"Filling in forms for fish and cloth is not what a clan leader does. Leave it to Set—"

"If you will not be helpful, you can—"

"Oh honestly! Do you want to grow old without living?" snapped Izuna impatiently. He glared at Madara, who appeared taken aback at his little brother's rudeness. "You are clan leader all the time, Brother, one afternoon will not hurt. There is little war in winter and we both know it! The village has enough supplies for the next six weeks at least, so please take some time to take care of yourself!"

They blinked at each other, their minds stagnant. Finally, in a much gentler voice than usual, Madara said, "You are struggling with her anniversary."

Izuna pursed his lips and a cold expression masked his face.

"Izuna, tell me."

"No comment."

Madara sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. Reopening his eyes, he stared at the man in front of him. The boyishness had been gone for some time, but still … how could he not look at his little brother and see him as a child to this very day?

"You loved her."

"Hn."

"Izuna. You loved her."

As he moved his head away, his bangs covered his eyes. "It no longer matters. She is gone."

Inside Madara's chest, he ached. For his little brother, for the life he could have had. These times took away so many things – happiness was something that often was snatched away so abruptly, the grief continued longer than the coldest winter. Though it had not been an option for him, a happy life had been for Izuna.

* * *

Her correspondence with the woman had been going well for some time, though there was a period where the woman in question had seemingly vanished. As she had discovered in this letter now, it was merely because of familial duties and nothing else.

 _Dear Kajihime-sama,_

 _I first wish to express my apologises for prolonging my reply without prompt explanation. I have recently wedded and thus my husband's needs must be appeased first. As for your request, I will happily accept this task and research into the roots of the curse. I would like to persuse any archives at the palace and surrounding towns, in case there is anything to suggest the reason for these activities._

 _Furthermore, I would like to enlighten you to the fact that this being does not appear to be actively pursuing the curse, so I ask that you permit me to investigate the curse's originals and those of the yurei separately because ascertaining anything more._

 _Thank you for your patience and kindness._

Then she signed off, her name unchanged.

Kajihime breathed out a sigh of relief. Perhaps she would return to the palace now to help examine the root of her family's misfortune.

* * *

Nihon's journal was neatly laid beside the head of his futon when he retired to his bedchamber that night. For a few seconds after undressing he simply gazed at it, both transfixed and wary. _It looks harmless_ , his curiosity told him. After all, how often was curiosity right over rationality?

Clutching the book in his hand, he opened it and skimmed the first few pages. Surmising the contents proved to be easy enough. Nihon had written a prudent content page, indicating 'groups' of _ayakashi_ and other creatures, including their stories, were aligned under the appropriate category. Madara nearly scoffed at the man's attention to detail. To be expected, he supposed, from the man who managed the entire clan's accounts and finances …

Something niggled at him. A memory or a familiar sense that he had forgotten something. It was manageable but soon started to feel vexing. He'd had it for the last few weeks. The amount of times he had recounted the list of forms and paperwork to double-check he had not missed anything was beyond what he could measure. Still this feeling persisted.

But looking at Nihon's journal of _ayakashi_ made that feeling ease.

Flicking through, he stopped at seeing the word: _yuki-onna_. He could remember his mother's face whenever he asked her to tell him the tale … he had imagined them, all of them, as a family …

Not one for feeling sentimental, he quickly flipped the page and stared in dawning realisation. The delicately handwritten name that headed it almost caused him to fling the book away from himself. Of course! That was what he had been thinking about, albeit on a subconscious level … It was like sparks from a fire had alighted the strings of a firework.

 _Tsurara-onna_

Tsurara. The palace.

But … glancing at the name again, then reading Nihon's description, Madara knew right away that she was not an icicle-woman. Then again whenever did a _yokai_ dress as a _miko_? Also, why would a _miko_ be imprisoned in the royal palace, anyway?

* * *

Prowling the night once more, she peered into the Camellia room and found it empty again. Breathing in deeply, she squared her shoulders and resigned herself to the thought that maybe he wasn't the one. When she had seen him speak with that woman, she had been so sure – she had reported it to the prince the very same night, she was so sure! Alas! He had perhaps entertained her enough, though she obviously had not chosen him. It would have been so obvious if she had; he never would have returned to his clan.

The old maid shook her head and carried on walking down the hall.

There was still much to be done.

* * *

The last thing he had ever expected was to be summoned back to the palace and greeted with such familiarity from the royals, although the prince's wife looked down her nose at him with the same level of ignorance as before. Prince Yuge had whisked him inside for a drink and talk, as though they were old friends. Madara couldn't say he was impressed nor understood the reason behind the sudden change. When he had received the invite, he took so he could solve the runes in the ruined annex.

"You must understand," started Prince Yuge, "the reason I have asked for your return. It is a delicate matter."

Madara waited for him to continue.

"There is a curse on this palace, Uchiha-san," he explained, "Something from long ago, from the days of the second daimyo I think. It has caused a number of … _misfortune_ in my family. We think it may be time that the curse is weakening, or coming to its peak."

He quirked an eyebrow and said nothing.

"Have you heard the story of Osakabe-hime, from the Lightning Lands?"

"I cannot say I know the tale."

"She haunts Himeji Castle, the old palace of the Lightning daimyo. Anyone who ventures onto the highest floor will be met by her and die." From Prince Yuge's face, Madara knew that the story held more meaning than to scare children. "There is also another story of a woman who haunted her husband after he poisoned her, appearing to him in paper lanterns."

He had heard that story. Okiku, the woman with a deformed face.

"What of these stories?"

"A yurei exists here, she who placed the curse upon us."

Immediately Tsurara's face came to mind, but Madara squashed the thought and instead focused on the man in front of him. "You are suggesting … that there is a vengeful spirit cursing your family … and doing what?" He paused drinking, observing the prince closely.

"She will kill us." There was a confidence in his voice that Madara couldn't quite understand.

"And you are certain?"

"Indeed. She has done so before and will—" He broke off suddenly, looking pained.

Madara surveyed him for another moment, then asked, "Have you sent for a priest?" He was answered by a bitter laugh. "A _powerful_ priest." He added, frowning.

"Priests, onmyoji, you name it." The prince looked older, nearly resembling his father exactly. "They cannot fight her. Her powers are too strong, her hate has consumed her and made her into an _onryo_. Kajihime has contracted a _miko_ to help us, but I fear that will not be enough." Rapidly it made sense why Tsurara was in the palace and her dislike of the residence. "This spirit will not rest until we have paid for the sins of our ancestor."

"Which are what?" His rude tone earned him a glower off the old maid, but Prince Yuge didn't seem to mind it.

"I … I do not know exactly."

At once Madara's eyes narrowed at the blatant lie. "The curse you mentioned," He decide to play along, let the royals think he was in the dark for the time being. "It is the one inscribed on the wall of that annex in the gardens." It clearly wasn't a question.

"You have seen it?"

"'Cursed to live and never to thrive', correct?" When Yuge nodded, he inhaled deeply. "Have you studied its meaning before?"

"No, only the history of my family and the effects of the curse on us," answered the prince softly, becoming more despondent. "The curse has caused our numbers to dwindle. Death is prevalent in—"

"Death is prevalent everywhere, we live in a time of war," snapped Madara waspishly, "It is not unique to any daimyo."

"It is the nature of the death that is unique," Prince Yuge retorted, at once irritated, "Does transforming into a skeleton in a night sound universal?"

Intrigued, Madara set down his cup and leaned forwards. "A skeleton?"

 _Cursed to live and never to thrive …_

What did skeletons have to do with that?

Prince Yuge exhaled through his mouth and his shoulders drooped. "Every male heir dies the same; only males are born to this family. On that night there will be a cry, like a fox howling but it is not a fox. The moon will be dim, the night darker than usual, and when the heir falls asleep he will never awaken again."

"You have a daughter." Madara pointed out.

"She is the first daughter in over one hundred and fifty years," Prince Yuge spoke softly again, as though the conversation was exhausting him. "We took it as a sign."

"Of what?"

"We cannot be certain until the time comes."

-x-

 _Harimise_ = where prostitutes line up for a customer to select one of them. Oiran women did not partake in this form of prostitution

* * *

Thank you for your review, **hissori-yoru**. I'm glad you like it :) thanks for reading!


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